I opted for evening Mass, and because I was blissfully alone, I was able to focus on the worship
and Scripture and sacredness of the hour.
(I didn't grow up Catholic, it was a choice I made when I was 26.
I guess you could say I was a non-denominational evangelical before I made my conversion.
Presbyterian, Four Square, wherever I felt like I should be, that's where I was. Maybe more of that story later.)
|st. patricks cathedral, new york|
Before communion each week, we say a simple prayer.
"Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed,"
which is taken from Matthew 8:8.
It's one of my favorite prayers.
Tonight as my head was bowed,
I thought of my unworthiness,
the hurt I've caused God's heart.
And in that quiet moment, these words were whispered to my heart:
"You are my daughter."
Yes, I do wrong. Over and over and over again.
I make a thousand selfish choices day after day.
I hurt my Father's heart.
But that doesn't change my identity as His.
As a royal daughter of the King of Kings.
Why do I doubt that God would do for me what the brokenhearted father did for the prodigal son?
That in my failings and misery, I can come to Him confident that He will run for me,
throw His arms around me, and welcome me with joy and gladness
and tears of thanksgiving?
He does. He will do it a thousand times a day until the end of time.
Not just for me, but for you.
You are the royal child of a King.
My heart longs to embrace that identity, to strive to be worthy of my calling,
to remember, with humility, that I am His.
Now and forever. Amen.